


Sociology? More like stuff-my-holeogy

by Jackiemetcalfe1952



Category: Historical RPF, RPF - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempted Murder, Begging, Blow Jobs, Boss fight with Trisha Paytas, Choking, Communism, Crack, Crack Fic, Degradation, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Enemies to Lovers, First Time Blow Jobs, Gags, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Karl Marx - Freeform, Light BDSM, M/M, Marking, Mentions of Lady Gaga, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Punishment, Semi-Public Sex, alevel, dom!karl, i have no idea when this is set, marxism, random guest appearances, sociology - Freeform, sub!parsons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26682097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackiemetcalfe1952/pseuds/Jackiemetcalfe1952
Summary: Parsons is very jealous of Karl's success as an activist for all the povs living on council estates to look up to and decides to write his own book to rival him. Unfortunately, things don't quite go as expected in his quest to save the rich from being eaten. Just imagine this mans outrage as he discovers the communist daddy is going on tour to the land of the free (let's be real America is more like someone living on benefits wearing a Gucci belt I feel sorry for yall)
Relationships: Karl Marx x Talcott Parsons
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	1. Single men, reveal yourselves

**Author's Note:**

> This shits dedicated to my sociology drillas Ellie and Amelie

"Daddy Karl Marx is unarguably one of the greatest sociologists of all time!!" Said no one ever. Parsons firmly believed that this grey haired, Santa looking mf was extremely overhyped. Sure, he's contributed a lot, but if you think about it, what has he really done? He's caused nothing but trouble. Society was fine the way it was before he showed up. Everything's functional as it is, no need for silly revolutions and eating the rich. Was he completely out of his mind?? Parsons would love nothing more than to punch the ever living shite out of him if the opportunity presented itself, the smug German gimp.

No matter what Parsons was doing, no matter where he was, Karl's name would always somehow pop up into conversation. Nobody understood how angry this made him. Surely there are better things to talk about, other people to give praise to other than him? It angered him that his own name wasn't out circling in conversations. Would Parsons ever admit to his undeniable jealousy? Absolutely not. Everyone picked up on it; the way he would tense up and try to change the subject whenever his name was mentioned. No one would ever ask him to his face if he was jealous, but everyone he interacted with knew it. All but one.

His best friend Durkheim would never pass up the opportunity to tease Parsons about his jealousy. If there was anyone he could knock the lights out of other than Karl, it would be Durkheim. His response to the insufferable, light hearted harassment was always the same, "shut the fuck up you unseasoned cabbage, at least I'm not a surrendering French bastard like you."

"I think it's time you got a new insult, I've become immune now." Durkheim would retort with one eyebrow raised, evidently unfazed by Parsons' attempt at humiliating him.

"Hon hon you fromagey bitch" Parsons retaliated with the utmost smug expression plastered across his face. Durkheim just shook his head in response, sis really thought he did something. "I don't get why everyone feels the need to suck him off so hard, he's nothing revolutionary."

"Tell you what you should do: write your own book. Sure, the communist manifesto is one of the worlds most recognised pieces of writing and you've got a lot to compete with but it's worth a shot. It's either that or create your own revolution."

Parsons raised his eyebrow at the ridiculous suggestion. How the hell was he supposed to produce a book bigger and better than the communist manifesto? Durkheim's alternative proposition of starting a revolution almost seemed like a good idea in comparison to his first idea.

But the more Parsons ran the words of wisdom bestowed upon him through his mind, the more he thought about how it could be a reasonable, reachable goal. How hard can it be? All he has to do is write some meaningless words on a piece of paper. Easy money. All he needs to do is find out how to appeal to his audience of young, impressionable Tories, which shouldn't be too hard; just say whatever they want to hear!

'The capitalist elites are going to spaff in their pants when they read this' Parsons thought to himself, taking a seat at the mahogany desk situated in the middle of his office. Unlocking the top desk drawer, he rummaged around to find a fresh sheet of paper that didn't have the communist king's face crudely doodle on it only to be scribbled out in blood red ink.

This piece of literary art would make Karl shit himself in fear when he read it, Parsons would make sure of it.


	2. Bruh moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit just keeps getting worse for Parsons
> 
> Honestly not a lot happens in this chapter, it'll get juicier in the next one

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Parsons snatched up the piece of paper with barely any words written on it lying in front of him, aggressively crumpling it up into a ball and tossing it into the bin next to the desk. This was his fifth attempt and starting his to be critically acclaimed manuscript, but the inspiration just wasn't flowing like it used to. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't put words on the page. The ideas floated around his mind like a fly repeatedly smashing itself into a window, the only issue was that he just couldn't communicate it. 'How does anyone do this', he thought to himself, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the intricately designed grooves in the ceiling.

Eventually, the stuffy atmosphere of his office along with the frustration from the lack of inspiration got too much for him. Slowly getting up from his seat, Parsons grabbed his jacket off the coat rack and headed outside for a walk to clear his head since this was the only advice given to him by shit show that is CAMHS.

The familiarity of his usual route around Colorado Springs soon calmed him down, the cool, fresh air filling his lungs. This area was well known for its gorgeous scenery and popular hiking trails. He thought himself lucky to have grown up in such a beautiful area and was proud to call it his home. Too bad the land was stolen and actually should belong to the Native Americans (oop controversial sorry capitalist twats). Despite enjoying his delightful walk around the city, there was still something in the back of his mind trying to claw it's way out into his thoughts, mostly just thoughts about how much he hated communism and the big fat buffoon that was Karl Marx.

Then he remembered the one thing that never failed to amuse him no matter how shit of a mood he was in. Turning back around, he headed off in the direction he just came in to make his way to his favourite place. Parson's excitement seemed to get the best of him, his little legs (couldn't find out how tall this geezer was so I'm just presuming he had little legs) speeding up as all those negative thoughts whirling around his head faded into the abyss of his 5 working brain cells. 'Hopefully I won't be too late and miss it!' Parsons thought to himself, 'gotta go fast, kachow'. 

Soon enough, he reached the thing that had won a special place in heart: the daily public hanging. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd to get a place right front and centre. "Who is it today then Brian?" he asked the local butcher. 

"Some dirty bastard that's been knocking around with that bald nonce behind the bike sheds. Apparently someone caught him chatting up an 8 year old lass, then he told her to suck his bollocks, the filthy mug," Brian replied, "personally I wouldn't have it. If it were my daughter he was noncing on I'd tear off his head and piss in his pipes."

"Bloody hell... So I'm not late then?"

"Nah, they haven't even dragged him out yet. Was on my way to donate this pot of jizz but I thought this would be a much more satisfying place to throw away my little swimmers." Brian responded with a shit eating grin, his toothless smile sending shivers right through Parsons. 

15 minutes passed and still not guilty pedo had been presented to the gathering of eager faces. A chant had started to encourage the executioner to bring him out: "show us the nonce! Show us the nonce! Show us the nonce!" Not long after, Jeremy Kyle appeared in front of the crowd along with Graham and security Steve trailing at his heels. 

"Alright listen up you lot! I'm only gonna say this once, there will not be an execution today". The entire crown sighed in disappointment and started booing at Jezza. "The lie detector results came back and he got a full house so he has been released back into the streets. Feel free to pursue him however you please, we aren't legally responsible for anything that happens after he leaves."

A wave of misery washed over Parsons. This was supposed to be the best part of the day, and now everything had been ruined. The pressure and disappointment of today's events had really taken a toll on him, so he just went home to bust a nut.


	3. Yuh get into it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parsons and Durkheim take a trip to see a very special lady and make a shocking discovery

It'd been a week since Parsons had decided to rival the Communist Manifesto with his own book, and he was on an absolute role. Spaffing out pages upon pages of pure literary art. It hadn't even occurred to him how long he'd been bent over the desk, a slutty little sex slave to the paper, only leaving to eat, sleep, piss and occasionally have a wank. Didn't want to leave a sus white stain on the front cover.

Being so preoccupied with his work, Parsons hadn't even noticed the figure entering the room and standing in front of the desk, only making himself known with a sharp cough to gain his attention. Parsons looked up at the man, "Durkheim? What are you doing in my house, I'm working."

Durkheim shook his head in disbelief, "you've been locked up in here for days. Let me guess, you haven't showered in a week. You smell like a year 9 PE changing room."

"I've got no time for basic hygiene. If I stop now my flow will be lost."

"Lost your flow? You've lost the fucking plot fella," Durkheim walked around the desk and leant his ass against the top drawer, pulling the piece of paper Parsons was working on away from him, "you need a break. I've got a surprise for you."

Parsons frowned at his best friend and snatched the paper off him, "I've got to finish this, you're the one who suggested it in the first place."

Durkheim sighed and pulled out the chair, making room for him to take a seat on the desk in front of him. "Close your eyes and put your hands out. I'm not leaving until you do."

"This better not be what I think it is..." Parsons hesitantly held out his hands and closed his eyes. He sighed in relief as the thing presented to him wasn't a fleshy meat sceptre. It was tickets to see Lady Gaga that weekend. As much as he loved Lady Gaga, Parsons couldn't let himself fall behind on the unrealistic deadline he'd set for himself. "How dare you, you know Lady Gaga is my weakness. I need to get this finished and there's nothing you can do to slow me down!" He shoved the tickets into Durkheim's chest and pushed him away.

"Bruh what the fuck do you know how much those cost? I nicked 50 quid out of a homeless geezer's donation box for these, you're coming to see this bitch whether you like it or not sunshine!" Looks like both men weren't about to back down from their fights...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Ay yo time skip check]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ultimately, Durkheim reigned supreme, asserting his dominance by forcefully bathing Parsons and dragging him to the concert. By the time they'd found the back of the queue to get in, they soon realised that it seemed the entire city had the same ideas of seeing the pop queen herself live on stage. What's worse is that the line was moving like how old people fuck: slowly and painfully. Unfortunately, adding rain water to the mix didn't make it anymore bearable. Now they were just cold and moist, not sexy at all (unless you're into that). 

Half an hour later, they were finally in the building. Of course, you can't go to a concert without alcohol. Finding a decent place in the pit in front of the stage, Durkheim pulled a bottle with a gallon of lukewarm Stella out from his ass. "Has that been inside you this entire time?" Parsons asked, disappointed but not surprised.

Durkheim merely responded with a facial expression that read, 'you're damn right it has been'. Suddenly, the harsh, white lights above them faded, the crowd roaring in excited anticipation. The speakers began to play that classic gay anthem, "Judas! Judaaas!"

For the first time in a week, Parsons was finally able to let himself go a bit and have fun, practically screaming lyrics and dancing like no one was watching. Except someone was watching. Not creepily, just admiringly. Durkheim had stopped dancing to take a moment to just watch his best friend, happy that he'd been able to convince him to get out the house.

"Well fuck me with a broom handle, that was amazing!" Parsons proclaimed as they left the venue, "I'm so glad you made me come along. Who needs stupid books when you've got Lady Gaga. Don't get me wrong, she's a bloody nutter but you gotta admit she bangs out some fuckin tunes."

Durkheim chuckled to himself softly, amused by how riled up he'd had gotten, "next stop, Ariana Gran- hey, are you ok?" Parsons had stopped walking and was now engrossed by a large advertising poster outside the arena. Durkheim sauntered back over to him, his best friend's eyes wide in disbelief. "What is it?" No response. He looked up at what had caught Parsons' undying attention, "no way..."

It was none other than the sexy marxist daddy himself.

And he was going on tour.


	4. Marxism world tour 2020

"You've got to be fucking joking!" Parsons thrust his clenched fist into the brick wall of his office, pain shooting through his veins like a shot of heroine. He watched as the blood seeped through the tears in his skin with no expression on his face. 

"All right fella, let's just calm down now," said Durkheim, "it's probably just taking the piss. There's no way he'd come here, he'd get absolutely slaughtered then strung up by his bollocks."

Wiping his bloody knuckles on his trousers, Parsons took a deep breath to calm himself down, "I suppose there's only one way to find out." He pushed past Durkheim and took a seat at the computer. 

Disregarding the UTTER disrespect, the French baguette man leant on the office chair and peered over Parsons' shoulder at the screen. Opening Chrome (chrome gang for life internet explorer gang can suck their mum ❤️), he soon realised that he'd completely forgotten about the last tab open, hastily closing it. "Whoops, just ignore that."

Durkheim looked at Parsons and frowned, "what the hell was that? Please tell me it didn't say 'Russian beast shags bratty American cun-'"

"You didn't see shit alright it's just your French schizo brain making it up!" Parsons exclaimed, swiftly opening a new tab and searching for the details on the poster, "looks like it's true..." And there it was, a list of all the cities around the world that Karl would be visiting. His eyes lingered on 'Colorado Springs' written in bold lettering, not quite sure what emotion to feel. Outrage? Hatred? Resentment? (Now that I think about it those are all pretty much the same emotion lol)

"Call me a nutter all you want, but I think you should get tickets." 

Parsons whipped his head around and scowled at him, "why the fuck would I do that?"

"This is what you've been waiting for! Walk up to the bastard and tell him to his fat ugly face that he's a shithead."

"Oh shit bitch yous right! Marxism sucks ass, functionalism forever baby!" Now fuelled with passion, Parsons went back to the computer screen to put his bank details in and effectively pay his nemesis' wages. 

"Right well I'd better shoot my load and hit the road, got some shite to attend to." Durkheim headed for the door, his best friend too immersed in his own world to even notice him leaving. "Bye loser." And with that all said and done, Durkheim drifted away to go bully some poor people. 

Parsons hadn't even noticed that he was no longer in the room, "alright, almost finished!" He went to press the 'I'm not a robot' button, but something was wrong. Computer said no. 

"Eh? Why's it not working??" Parsons repeatedly smashed the button, trying everything to get it to work: refreshing the page, restarting the whole computer, but it wouldn't let him press it no matter what, "you've got to be kidding me, I'm not a shitting robot!" He shrieked at the screen, grasping at the monitor, giving it an (abusive) encouraging shake. 

After at least 10 tries, eventually he just gave up and went back to writing as much of his book as he could cram into the short time. He only had 7 days until the tour. Despite not getting tickets, he had a cunning plan to get in anyway. 

Looks like this good, bourgeois boy was about to become a dirty crime boy.


	5. Girls have OnlyFans but I got only pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parsons has an encounter with Karl and some other not so important people

A week had passed since Parsons and Durkheim had made the infamous discovery. He still couldn't believe that Karl was coming all the way to the US to spread his infectious disease known as Marxism to all the poor, innocent American citizens. What had they done to deserve such a deplorable fate? Parsons wanted to take this opportunity to show this overhyped git who's boss. The world didn't need more lying, thieving bastards like him. I suppose you could say what Parsons was really wanting deep down was an ethnic cleansing, except instead of another angry man with a funny moustache control alt deleting a group of people with different viewpoints- oh wait yeah nevermind that's exactly what he wants lol. 

No matter how many attempts he made trying to get those tickets, he still couldn't get past the 'I'm not a robot' page. However, if you thought this would put an end to his goal then you'd be gravely mistaken love. This only fuelled his burning passion and desire even further. And he'd come up with the perfect plan to sneak in. Unfortunately, he also couldn't manage to convince Durkheim to become a dirty crime boy with him, apparently he'd much rather stay at home and rave about social solidarity whatever the fuck that is. 

The time to put his plan into action was becoming closer and closer, it wasn't long before he planned to leave. His disguise was impeccable, dressed head to toe in black latex. The suit also came with a funny mask with a great big hole in the front. Parsons assumed it was for a professional hot dog eating contest, what else could a hole that size fit inside it? When he showed Durkheim a few days earlier, he did nothing but laugh at Parsons' blissful unawareness until he collapsed onto the floor. Parsons wasn't going to take any shit from someone with his fashion sense though, what does he know? Strange that it didn't have any eye holes though...

Grabbing his list of shite to take on his adventure, Parsons began stuffing things in his bag. Manuscript, pins to pick any locks, his lucky crowbar, a lighter and a spliff to calm his nerves. And with that, he took a deep breath and headed off to the arena where Karl would be speaking. 

Usually it wouldn't take that long to walk there, but looking the way he did, Parsons knew he would have to take the long way through various alleyways. The minute someone saw him, they were bound the called the police. Not because he looked like he was about to break into someone's house, because the area had a strict 'keep kinks away from the public eye' rule. Of course, Parsons had no idea what the suit he was wearing was actually used for, but every so often when he passed someone they'd give him a quick, concerned glance then giggle to themselves. 

By the time he'd reached the venue, hundreds of people had gathered at the entrance, queuing up to feast their eyes upon the almighty communist king himself. Too many people here, he'd have to sneak around the back entrance ;). It's a good thing nobody could recognise him under the blanket of darkness, otherwise next time he'd be the one being hunted down and strung up in the city centre for all to witness and laugh at. 

Reaching into his bag, Parsons whipped out his lucky crowbar to pry the door open. It wasn't his first rodeo, he'd broken into plenty of establishments before for no particular reason, just for the thrill of it. It was Parsons' secret guilty pleasure, the rush of adrenaline, the latex suit tightly hugging his petite frame, the excitement of possibly being caught and punished aroused something within him. Yet another thing he'd never admit to anyone. 

Unfortunately, Parsons had failed to anticipate the person guarding the other side of the door...

It was Trisha Paytas!

Parsons recoiled back in pure utter shock. What was this transgender queen doing here on the other side of the back entrance to Karl Marx's show? He soon realised that coming this way was an extremely bad idea as he'd just walked in on Trisha posting nudes to her OnlyFans. She was also dressed up as an Ancient Egyptian for some reason... Turned out there was also some kind of fuck fest party being held in the backrooms of Karl's show, and Parson's had just walked straight into it. 

"Loving the getup sweetheart, you look like a man who knows his place," Trisha strutted over to where Parsons had completely frozen solid, "how about you bury yourself in my donkey? You're my favourite honkey."

Parsons tried to take a step back away from her, only to be met with a wall blocking him from doing so, "Sorry no thank you! Can you tell me how to get to Karl's show? I think I came the wrong way..."

Trisha cackled and pressed herself against him, sandwiching Parsons between her and the wall, "So you're a Karl fanboy are you? I think you'd be much more suited to be my little fuck boy."

A wave of panic washed over Parsons, causing him to involuntarily poke her in the eye and slip out away from her. Trisha screeched in pain. "Oh go cry about it on your kitchen floor," said Parsons. And with that minor setback out of the way, he made his way through the sea of people tied up, bound and gagged, trying his best not to step on anyone's tail. Wack how many furries were there...

Suddenly, a voice boomed from behind him, "stop that gimp! Don't let him get away, he's mine!!" Parsons turned around to see Trisha hunched over clutching her eye, pointing straight at him. 

"OwO, what's this?" All of the furries' head rotated in sync and glared at him before bounding towards him on all fours. Parsons yelled in sudden dismay, promptly making a break for it towards the door. Didn't matter how he got out, all he knew was that this ain't it chief. Parsons hastily pulled open the first door he came across, darting inside and slamming it shut. He could hear the hoard clawing and barking at the door from the other side, thankfully it had a lock on it. The animals remain in their cages, for now...

Parsons slid his back down the door, sighing out of a mixture of relief and fatigue when he hit the cold floor. That sure was something he'd never expected to happen, at least it'd make a funny story for the grandkids. "Furries, am I right fella?" 

Parsons' head shot up to see whoever was speaking to him. His eyes widened in shock. It couldn't be... Could it be... Karl Marx?!

Karl ambled over to Parsons with his heavy gait, offering a hand to the man panting out of breath on the floor. For too many times to count that day, Parsons had no idea how to feel. This was the moment he'd been psyching himself up for. Dismissing the hand outstretched to him, he swiftly picked himself up from the ground and put on a brave face. "Mr Marx. Y-you're a fat bastard and I think your book is wank. Mine is a lot better." 

Karl raised his eyebrow then roared in laughter. "Is that so? I think I should be the judge of that you silly little cunt." Parsons froze for a second before quickly reaching into his bag and pulling out the book. He thrusted it into Karl's chest, "B-baka..."

He watched silently as Karl skimmed through the pages, not making any facial expression to signify his opinions of it. It was an awkwardly long time before he said anything in response, until he finally spoke up, "you wrote this?" Parsons nodded, an audacious look plastered onto his face.

"It's shit."

Parsons' once bold expression melted into one of defeat, not quite sure of what to say. Should he retaliate? Should he just give up and not say anything? "Well, it was... an experience. Looks like I gotta shoot my load and hit the road for now, I'm needed elsewhere. Nice meeting you, gimp boy." Karl pivoted around to head for the exist, tossing the book into the bin behind him without any second thought. 

As soon as he'd drifted off, Parsons erupted into a fit of rage. How dare he call his book shit?! This was unacceptable. In his head, Parsons had only imagined a world where either Karl felt threatened by his book or was in awe of it. 

He'd have to seek revenge...


	6. Parsons commits arson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is pretty self explanatory   
> Also boss fight with trisha

Parsons was left stunned and confused as the communist giant floated out of whatever room he'd stumbled into. Copious amounts of emotions flooded his mind: anger, frustration, disappointment. He'd come so far, there was no way in hell he could just give up now. Too many things had been sacrificed in order for Parsons to get to this position. And now, Karl would have to make the biggest sacrifice of all...

His life. 

Parsons awoke from his dissociating episode, reaching into the bin to retrieve his precious manuscript, now covered in literal shit and heroine leaking from a half used syringe. Mental what people get up to in the men's bathroom.

Following the sound of the roaring crowd, Parsons made his way through the various corridors backstage of the arena, hoping to find something, if anything, he could work with to sabotage the show. If Parsons couldn't be happy, then nobody here deserved that happiness either. He knew he'd have to hurry up if he wanted to sabotage the show properly. It didn't help that the backstage was like a maze. Not only that, he also had the ever present threat of Trisha making herself known again. 'That woman's fucking terrifying.' Parsons thought to himself as he did his best to avoid all crew members wandering about. Too bad their hard work would all be for nothing.

Parsons froze for a second as he heard one of the staff talking from around the corner. Darting into the closest room, he silently prayed they wouldn't unknowingly follow him in there. He was lucky enough that nobody was already in there. Pressing his ear to the door, he patiently waited for the voices to disappear. Until suddenly he heard the crack of a whip echoing around the room, scaring the ever living shit out of him. Spinning around in his shat pants, Parsons was confronted with the very thing he swore to never run into again. It was her...

"Gone back to hiding in the closet, have we? How fitting," Trisha sauntered closer to Parsons while stroking the fabric flogger, learning in and whispering in his ear, "looks like I've found a naughty little brat ready to be tamed. You're about to be more than just put in your place, young man!" 

"Not today, you saucy seductress!" Parson equipped a powerful stance, ready and roaring for battle. He knew this moment would come sooner or later, he just didn't expect it to come so quickly (oop foreshadowing). Of course Trisha being Trisha, she pulled out the unexpected...

Yu-Gi-Oh cards.

"You want to settle this with a fucking card game!?" Parsons bellowed, "not on my watch!" Before she could even place her Dark Magician in attack mode, Parsons lunged at her, fuelled by the battle music provided by God hanging around up above them. Looks he had the thumbs up from the old g man upstairs. He went to punch in her left tit, only for Trisha to retaliate by grabbing his wrist and pinning it behind his back.

Bending him over, she licked the shell of Parsons' ear, "you've been a very bad boy, haven't you? What you need is a good ol' fashion spanking from mummy Trishy..." With the power of God and anime on his side, Parsons leapt into action, thrusting his elbows into her ribcage. Trisha stumbled back in pain, grasping at her broken bones. 

"Take that you evil skank!" Giving her a swift kick to the face, Parsons made his escape from the room as Trisha sank to the floor, desperately trying to collect all the silicone dripping from her busted lip fillers. Hastily making his way through the corridors, he went to hide in another room. Turned out that this random Parsons had accidently found was a proper good find n all that jizz n jazz. Standing in front of him was the biggest tractor he'd ever gazed upon. He instantly knew that Karl would be entering the arena on this, no other tractor would have a seat that girthy. The question was... how would he use it to sabotage? He could slash the tires, he could steal the steering wheel, he could put a thumbtack on the seat. Then it came to him...

Pulling out the spliff buried at the bottom of his bag, Parsons hastily lit the block of weed and inhaled deeply, trying to smoke as much of it as quickly as possible; it wouldn't be long before the show started. Must have been running late given the fact that he had time for a boss fight with a mental woman famous for crying on her kitchen floor. 'That'll do' Parsons thought to himself before opening the fuel tank and tossing the still lit joint inside of it. Thank our ever present lord and saviour the father the son and the holy ghost Jeezy Creezy himself that it didn't blow up straight away otherwise he'd be deader than Jeffree Star's fanbase.

Sneakily leaving the room, Parsons went to find a spot where he could observe the chaos unfold from a safe different. Not long after, the lights of the stage dimmed as a spotlight highlighted big boss daddy Karl entering the stage on the tractor.

"I'm a God fearin' hard workin' combine driver hoggin' up the road on my p-p-p-plower, chug a lug a lugin' 5 miles an hour, on my International Harvester!"

It was taking an awfully long time for that spliff to kick in. Not for him, but for his plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel in the words of Rowan Atkinson. And then finally, it happened...

The tractor stopped midway, making an awful rumbling noise. Panic began to ensue Karl's face, realising that it had been tampered with! Probably some capitalist pig... The stage erupted into flames, a cloud of smoke shrouding Karl, blocking Parsons' view. The crowd screamed out in terror, running around like headless chickens. While everyone ran away from the flaming machinery on stage, Parsons ran towards it, desperate to know if his plan had succeeded.

Was he dead?? Or is he alive...?


	7. Flash your gash for some cash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parsons finds out if his plan to murder Mr Marx (ooh nice bit o alliteration right there) was successful
> 
> The title doesn’t have anything to do with the chapter so don’t get your hopes up

Parsons pushed past the flurry of frenzied Karl stans, desperately trying to see if his attack had worked. Out from the cloud of smoke, various crew members covered him and dragged his body off the stage (and by various, I mean like 10 people he's a big bitch alright). There were too many people obstructing his view to tell if he was dead or alive. Parsons could follow them and risk getting caught again, or he could just fuck off home and hope for the best. It was bound to be on the news anyway. Changing out of his gimp suit, Parsons snuck out the back the way he came in and headed back to the house.

Adrenaline pulsed through his veins. Out of every deviant act he'd committed, that was the most thrilling one. It was only a matter of time before someone took a chance to slay the beast, he was a proper nutter to think coming to the worlds biggest communism hating nation was a great idea, stupid mug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Ay yo time skip check]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Parsons slowly opened his eyes to the sound of his phone screaming at him, or rather Durkheim screaming at him. 30 missed calls. 50 text messages. Then another one, and another one. 'What the fuck is this donny after now?" Parsons thought to himself, rising out of bed to answer his best friend. Right on cue, as soon as he picked his phone up it rang once again.

"Right listen here, I thought I told you and all that I can't be letting you borrow my dildo agai-"

"This isn't about the shitting dildo you spanner! Have you seen the news??" Durkheim screeched from the other end of the line, "that's some fuckery right there my drilla, what the hell did you do this time?"

Parsons rushed to the TV and switched it on, promptly putting on BBC news. "Good morning pedophiles, our top story this morning: a terrorist attack at Colorado Springs arena left Marxist king Karl Marx in critical condition. His injuries are being treated in hospital in the intensive care unit. This prick really had a number done on him, fuck me-"

"Talcott, are you there? Oi mandem I know you're there you're being bare rude fam."

Parsons gazed at the screen in horror, his eyes wide in disbelief. His plan had failed. Looks like he's have to go to plan B.2: break into yet another establishment and finish the job off. Abruptly ending the call with Durkheim, Parsons shoved a banana in his face hole, got dressed then headed out.

He was lucky that the hospital was so close as well. At least this time there was no need for a disguise. As soon as Parsons entered the hospital, the stench of the American healthcare system hit him. 'Mmm, capitalism' Parsons thought to himself.

The next challenge was figuring out how to get into his room. He could either ask the front desk and get denied or he could find the room himself. The latter seemed like the best option given the fact that there would probably be guards stood outside the door making it painfully obvious that he was in there.

It didn't take long for Parsons to find which room it was. Not 10 minutes later the guards left for their lunch break, how convenient! Slowly opening the door, he slid inside the room and hesitantly walked over to the bed shielded by the curtain. Parsons took a deep breath then pulled back the curtain to reveal...

Not Karl Marx. It was Prince Philip.

The Prince opened one eye, "who are you? What the fuck do you want? Where's Liz?" he said rather annoyed in a raspy voice. My guy's on 1%, best leave the crusty old man alone. (Seriously is he still alive?)

How embarazzing. Parsons located the right room and headed inside. Round 2 let's go! And there he was is all his glory, Mr Marx. He didn't look to be injured too badly. Parsons really fucked up this time.

Grabbing a pillow off the empty bed next to Karl, he slowly lowered it over his face. No communist was welcome in the wondrous American healthcare system! Suddenly Parsons hesitated as he saw Karl's eye twitch. He froze as both Karl's eyes opened wide, hand shooting up to grab his wrist.

"Were you going to smother me?! That's not very pog champ of you Mr Parsons," Karl grinned then gripped Parsons' jaw, bringing it closer to his own face, "why don't you smother me with that ass instead?"

Parsons recoiled back in shock, a horrified expression on his face. Was Karl flirting with him? After he'd just tried to kill him?! TWICE?!?!

"Tf is wrong with you mental cunt?! Aren't you mad?"

Karl sat up and laughed, "not at all! Your book might've been shit, but I admire your spirit." He patted his lap, "come."

Parsons knew he should only be feeling confusion or disgust, but there was something so tempting about his offer... Now wasn't the best time to start questioning his sexuality, but there was something about Karl that made him very sexually confused. That paired with years of sexual frustration wasn't a good combination.

Should he accept Karl's invitation??


	8. Revolutionary in the streets, Daddy in the sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl makes Parsons his personal bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!!
> 
> This chapter finna be filthier than the streets of Scunthorpe 🤩 also sorry this took so long I was watching JoJo

Karl gazed into Parsons' eyes, patiently awaiting his response. After moments of contemplation, he finally made up his mind, shuffling over towards the larger man sat on the hospital bed. Karl wrapped his arms him, pulling him into his lap so he was facing towards the wall opposite them. His grip on Parsons' waist tightened as he leant in to whisper in his ear, "I'm going to make you fucking pay for what you did... You didn't really think you'd get away unscathed, did you gimp boy?" Karl's broad hand clutched the back of the petite man's neck, forcefully pushing him off of his lap along with his face firmly planting into the mattress as he got up to lock the door and close the blinds.

"Now then, what am I going to do with you...?" Karl murmured in a sultry voice. "Sit", he ordered, prompting Parsons to sit on his knees. Karl slowly removed the belt from around his middle, wrapping and tying it around Parsons' neck like a collar. "From this point until you leave the room, you're my little pet. You know what happens when pets are disobedient, don't you gimp boy?"

"Y-yes..."

Karl tugged at the makeshift lead, "yes what?"

"Yes, master." Parsons whimpered, pushing his arms together in hopes of hiding the tent in his pants. As much as he shouldn't be enjoying it, he couldn't deny how unbelievably turned on he was, even if it was his worst enemy treating him like a savage animal in desperate need of being tamed.

Karl pulled him closer, using his free hand to clench Parsons' narrow jaw and forcing him to look up into his eyes before leaning in closer until their faces were barely centimetres apart, "you're enjoying this, aren't you? Dirty slut..."

Parsons smirked, spitting in the dominant man's face. He wasn't the only one going down without a fight. "You little brat!" Karl chuckled darkly, wiping the gozz off his face, "I'll make you regret that later. Now strip."

"Make me."

There was something about his defiance that awoke something within Karl. He was used to getting his own way all the time, a challenge to his authority wasn't expected. Pushing Parsons down into the bed, he pulled his legs towards the edge and positioned himself in between his thighs. The smaller man reached out to touch him, only to be met with a strong hand wrapping itself around his wrists and pinning them above his head. Parsons gasped as Karl used his other hand to pull off his trousers along with his underwear, leaving the submissive man exposed from the waist down.

"Are you embarrassed yet, gimp boy? No?" Karl reached into his pocket and pulled out a pink, frilly, lacy Victoria's Secret thong, sliding Parsons' legs through the holes and lifting his hips up to allow the fabric to cover his modesty. "How about now? Or maybe we should put you in a skirt too, my pretty little pet..." The submissive man looked away in shame, humiliation in the form of a red blush creeping up his neck to flush his cheeks. The embarrassment of being used and dressed up like a doll was no match for his arousal though, erection yearning to be freed from the confines of the knickers.

Karl snapped his fingers and pointed down to the ground, "on the floor now you filthy peasant." Parsons obeyed, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. Karl crouched behind him, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling his head back, causing Parsons to let out an unwilling groan, "don't think you'll be enjoying yourself any time soon, you won't be able to walk straight for a week after I'm done with you." Standing up, he pulled down his own trousers and underwear, "you know what to do."

Parsons peered up at the throbbing monster cock presented to him, wondering how something with that kind of girth was supposed to fit in his mouth, let alone any other hole in his body. He sat up on his knees, maintaining eye contact as he gave the tip an experimental lick. Taking Karl's shudders as a positive sign to continue, Parsons took the pink head into his mouth and sucked lightly. "Is that all you've got?" Karl murmured, placing a hand on the back of his head to tempt him into taking more down his throat. He sucked harder on the shaft, pressing and dragging his tongue up along the protruding vein on the underside. Karl let his head fall back, "better... But I know you can do more."

Parsons gripped Karl's thigh, forcing as much of him down his throat as he could possibly take before dragging his lips back up the pulsing member. "Mmm that's more like it. Now speed it up," Karl's grasp on his locks of hair tensed as he thrusted his hips hard into Parsons' face until his nose was planted into the bed of thick, wiry hair, not satisfied until all 10 inches were consumed, "Cardi B says she wants you to touch that lil dangly thing that swing in the back of her throat. You could learn a thing or two from her." Parsons gasped out of shock, gagging at the sensation of the man meat blocking his air passage. Tears gathered in the inner corners of his eyes as he looked up at Karl, his gaze blurred from the salty liquid. He would just have to endure the punishment for now and push through. This encounter had definitely taught him a few things about himself: he thoroughly enjoyed used like a sex doll and he looked sexy as fuck down on his knees worshipping Karl.

Parsons took the rock hard length in his mouth pretty well for his first time sucking dick, coating it in as much saliva as he could produce as he rhythmically bobbed his head up and down until his jaw was aching. Karl wouldn't let his pain get in the way though, keeping his hand firmly attached to the back of his head, grunting in pleasure whenever Parsons swallowed every inch of him down his tight, wet throat. Parsons secretly moved a hand down to his own throbbing dick, rubbing himself through the fabric of the thong. His efforts at pleasuring himself as well as Karl were short lived, however. As soon as Karl noticed, he immediately pulled himself out of Parsons' mouth by the hair, a string of saliva connecting them.

Karl seized the end of the leather belt tied around his neck, pulling him up before spinning him around and bending him over the edge of the bed, "did I say you were allowed to do that, gimp boy? You couldn't even wait for me to finish... I was going to end your punishment with me spurting my gurt all over your pretty face," Karl whispered in his ear, pressing his cock against his ass, "but clearly you haven't learnt your lesson yet. Horny little slut..."

Parsons felt his heart hammering against his ribcage, sweating anxiously as the dominant man pulled his ass closer to the edge and spread his thighs apart. Sliding the thong to side, Karl wasted no time in thrusting himself into the tight hole without any preparation whatsoever. Parsons clenched the pristine white bedsheets, a low moan escaping his lips as he felt his hole sting slightly at the abrupt, forced entrance. Karl rapidly began rocking his hips with a firm grip on his ass, watching as he hastily plunged himself in and out of him. Parsons' thighs tensed at the new sensation, the pain soon dying down but never truly leaving. He felt a strong hand reach into his hair again, holding on for dear life as it harshly yanked his head to the side. Karl latched onto the exposed neck, sucking hard and leaving a trail of hickeys from his ear down to his nape. "Shit..." Parsons groaned, shivers crawling up the back of his legs up to the top of his spine.

"You feel those marks? You're mine now, gimp boy... Even after you leave this room until they fade, this ass belongs to me and me only. You destroy my property, I'll take something of yours," Karl muttered threateningly, "tell me how bad you want it."

Parsons looked back over his shoulder innocently, "please master, I want it so bad. Every inch of me belongs to you... Please just fuck me hard..."

Karl pulled on the fistful of hair vigorously, trailing his tongue along the line of hickey marks before biting down hard on the flesh of Parsons' neck, causing him to moan profusely out of mixture of pain and satisfaction, "but I thought you hated me. Now look at you, a filthy mess beneath me as I fuck you senselessly."

"Then fuck me until I cry. Rearrange my innards. Turn my guts inside out. Teach me a fucking lesson." Parsons uttered boldly while making direct eye contact with the larger man still ploughing his ass from behind. Karl shoved his head down into the mattress, groaning animalistically as he relentlessly fucked him, smacking his ass cheek and leaving a sharp, red handprint. Parsons moaned at the sweet stinging sensation, rocking his hips against Karl's, his rhythm irregular and sporadic as he was too focused on the overwhelming pleasure. Suddenly, he hit that one spot that spiralled Parsons into unbelievable euphoria. "F-fuck! Fuck please master, r-right there... a-ah!" Granting his request, Karl sped up the tempo and assaulted that same spot over and over until Parsons' back arched with his eyes rolling back in his skull, unable to form coherent sentences expressing his pure rapture and exhilaration. The only thing he could do to voice the revelling delight was moan breathlessly.

Just as everything appeared to be going well, a knock at the door suddenly interrupted the passionate love offense. "Is everything alright in there, Mr Marx? You sound like you're in pain... And why are the blinds closed?"

Karl clamped his hand around Parsons' open mouth, still intensely pounding his ass, "I'm fine, don't worry! Just wanted some privacy. Come back in half an hour." Parsons did his best to stop the explicit sounds he was making, his own fingers wrapping around Karl's wrist as he dug his nails into his skin. He tried to listen out for the nurse's footsteps leaving so he could resume his lewd noises, but Karl had a different idea.

"Looks like we'll have to be more careful, gimp boy. You could've got us in trouble there..." Karl reached down and ripped off the pink thong, balling it in his fist before shoving it into Parsons' mouth, "not the best gag in the world, but it does the job. Not to mention you look so fucking hot like that. You have no idea what you do to me..." Parsons wasn't even listening to whatever Karl had to say at this point. Desperation soon settled as he grinded his manhood into the bed, craving release. Unexpectedly, Karl swiftly pulled out of his ass, admiring the gaping, stretched hole he'd created, "don't forget that this is a punishment. I won't let you come that easily." Karl brutally stroked himself until Parsons' erratic breathing had stabilised before thrusting himself back inside his hole, repeating the process again and again: fucking him hard and ruthlessly until Parsons was on the brink ecstasy, only to pull out at the last second.

It felt like it had been hours since Karl took him to pound town, torturing him over and over again by preventing his release. Sweat trickled down his face, his overworked asshole throbbed with every thrust, his cock pulsing as it pleaded to be touched. The only thing left he could do was beg. His hand trembled as he reached to remove the makeshift gag, "p-please master, please let me cum. I-it hurts, I need to cum, please!" Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he gave up on whatever remaining dignity he had.

Karl reached around to grab his jaw, turning his face towards him before growling in his ear, "I decide when you cum. I'm the one in control, you listen to me. Pathetic, dirty, little whores like you don't deserve to cum."

Parsons glared at Karl, "I fucking hate you, I wish you'd blown up in that explosion, you conceited prick!" He spat, his breath unsteady, hairline and forehead soaked in sweat.

Karl laughed at his little emotional outburst, "be careful what you say next. I'm a very powerful man, you don't want me as your enemy, stupid burke. I'll let you cum, but only if you give up on writing that shitty manuscript of yours and fully submit to me"

"Fuck you!"

Karl raised an eyebrow before pulling out once again, flipping Parsons over then almost crushing his neck with his broad hand. Frantically gasping for breath, Parsons clutched his wrist as he felt the blood drain from his face, "I-I give up! I submit! I'll stop writing the book..."

"That's what I like to hear," Karl smiled menacingly, using his last bit of energy to repeatedly demolish his ass, hitting his prostate with irregular thrusts. Parsons thanked the sex gods before feeling that knot of pleasure explode with pure euphoria. His mouth hung open as he let out one last enraptured moan, eyes rolling back into his skull as his legs shook with pleasure, his orgasm a full body experience as every inch of him shuddered in satisfaction, his twitching cock shooting out a stream of cum. Karl stroked himself raw and finished all over his asshole, groaning lowly as he watched his commujizzm decorate his skin.

Parsons laid there absolutely exhausted, to tired to even lift a finger as he panted. He could already feel the bruises starting to form on his sore flesh. Closing his eyes, he tried to catch his breath before picking himself up from the bed. His legs wobbled as they struggled to support his weight, immediately craving to give up and let him collapse on the floor. Parsons retrieved his underwear and trousers, putting them back on after wiping himself down with tremorring hands.

Karl wasn't lying when he said he wouldn't be walking straight for a week afterwards.


	9. That boy vibe kinda sus

2 days had past since the encounter with Karl, and Parsons just couldn't get him out of his mind. This was mainly due to the constant throbbing in his ass. The pain had subdued a lot, but it was still there to discreetly reminded him of what had happened. He hated himself for letting it happen, for willingly submitting, for unexpectedly enjoying it so much, for craving more. Parsons knew that he had to see Karl again, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. The hatred was still there, he hated these emotions that Karl made him feel. This wasn't how it was supposed to play out; it should've ended with Karl being threatened by this new contender in the game, not with Parsons being corrupted and confused by conflicting emotions. As much as he still despised Karl, he longed to see him, to feel him just once more.

Yet again, Parsons had spent all this time alone cooped up inside with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. Well, more like a singular thought. This was the third night in a row Parsons had laid wide awake in bed, pale moonlight beaming through the open curtains as he memorised the patterns of the intricate designs on the ceiling. Any thoughts other than Karl were automatically dismissed despite Parsons wanting nothing more than to think of literally anything else. Someone could call him up and tell him that Prince Andrew and Tony Lopez had stolen their infant and his first thought still would've been 'damn that's crazy Karl wouldn't do something like that.' 

Parsons sighed as he rolled over on his side and closed his eyes, desperate to fall asleep. Not even 10 minutes later, he suddenly heard the faint sound of something being thrown at his window. Immediately, he thought that it must be Karl; obviously he must have come back for him. Parsons threw the sheets off his slim physique and eagerly ran over to the window, hastily unlocking the doors to the balcony and peering over the edge. Nothing.

Must have been his hopeful imagination. Trudging back inside, he lightly pushed the doors closed behind him and slumped back into bed, pulling the sheets over his shoulders. Parsons slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, his restless mind keen to replay the scene from the hospital over again for the 20th time that day. Being so caught up in his own head, he hadn't noticed the hooded figure crawling his way over the balcony and into the bedroom. Feeling the sense of someone watching him, Parsons turned over to see the balcony doors wide open, the wind breezing through and making the transparent curtains float around the room. Just as he was about to get up to go close them, Parsons gasped as a hand clasped around his mouth to stop him from screaming. He looked up with a petrified expression to find...

"Durkheim?!" Parsons yanked the hand away from his mouth, "what in fucks name do you think you're playing at?? I nearly had a heart attack!"

"Sorry bout that, didn't mean to scare mandem like that y'know." Durkheim pulled down the hood to reveal that it was in fact Durkheim, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

"Fuck that, why are you here? What do you want?" Parsons crossed his arms and looked at him with the most irritated facial expression he could muster, secretly happy that he'd come to see him.

"You haven't answered your phone in days! I figured that you've stuffed your head in that shitty manuscript again, breaking into your house is the only way I can get you to pay attention to me," Durkheim replied, suddenly muttering something along the lines of 'I wish you'd stuff your face in between my legs instead.'

"What?"

"What?"

Parsons looked at him suspiciously, "I, err, I'm not doing the manuscript anymore. I know it was your idea, but you're right, it is kinda shitty."

"You're giving up?? After all that effort you put in???" Durkheim shook his head, "I really don't understand you sometimes, American scum."

"Fromagey bitch boy." Parsons smiled, he missed the perpetual bickering between them.

"Anyway, since you haven't left the house in 3 days, I thought we could go on an adventure!"

"An adventure? At 2am? You nutter what are you planning...?" Parsons was sceptical but intrigued nonetheless.

Durkheim stood up and flashed him a cheeky smile, "you'll find out when we get there. Oh, and bring a spare pair of underwear, I've got everything else we need."

"What the hell do I need underwear for?"

"I told you, you'll find out when we get there," he gave Parsons a saucy wink before walking over to the door, "now come on, let's go!"

The boys had been walking for only 15 minutes, yet this short amount of time was still enough to make Parsons restless, "where the fuck are we going?" he asked as they strolled through the heavily wooded area. The leaves on the trees above them had arched to create a canopy, small slivers of moonlight shining through onto the pathway of stones. A light breeze weaved in and out of the branches, rustling the leaves and sending faint chills up Parsons' neck as the wind ruffled his hair. The cool air sent goosebumps up his arms, barely protected by the thin, white shirt he'd thrown on before they'd left. "Aren't you going to answer me?"

Durkheim chuckled and looked back over his shoulder, "stop moaning we're nearly there now you silly cunt."

Parsons huffed in frustration and carried on trailing behind his best friend until they reached their destination. "We're here," Durkheim flicked him on the forehead before revealing where he'd taken them. Parsons gazed at the scenery in awe; before him stood a gorgeous lake lined with trees and bushes, the moon in full view above them along with a myriad of stars glistening and reflecting in the clear water, "beautiful, isn't it?"

Parsons didn't take his eyes off the surroundings, "and here I thought you lured me out to murder me."

Durkheim laughed, "not yet, now get ya kit off we're going for a dip!" He began stripping off until he was in his underwear, meanwhile Parsons just stood there like 🧍 As soon as he noticed Parsons' reluctancy to get undressed, he smirked and sauntered over to him, "come on I told you take yo shit off bitch," said Durkheim as he began undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Oi oi I can do it myself thank you!" Parsons pulled away and took his clothes off until he was only in his underwear as well, stuffing the articles of clothing in Durkheim's bag. He looked over to find Durkheim was already balls deep in the water, trotting over to follow him in. As soon as his cool water lapped at his toes, he yelped and retreated back to land. 

"Don't be such a pussio and get in here already!" Durkheim snickered.

"How are you that far in already? It's freezing!" Parsons yelled back from the shore.

Rolling his eyes, Durkheim trekked back out of the water to Parsons before picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder. Ignoring his pleas of distress, he wandered back into the water until his waist was submerged again. 

"I swear to fucking god if you lob me in I'm going to barbeque your first born!" Parsons retaliated, his arms clinging to Durkheim as he begged for his life. 

Without any second thought, Durkheim smirked as he bent over to chuck Parsons into the water. Parsons screeched as he was met with crisp cold water enveloping his entire body, water rushing up his nose and in his eyes as he hastily pulled himself up to give Durkheim an even crisper slap. "You evil bitch!" Parsons went to hit him, not being quick enough for Durkheim's lightning fast reaction as he grabbed his wrist.

"Clart me and I'll drown you," he grinned threateningly, pulling Parsons closer by the wrist to tuck a piece of hair stuck to his forehead away from his eyes and behind his ear (I known he doesn't really have any hair in the pic but just pretend he does for the sake of the sexual tension ok). Durkheim let his hand linger on his jaw for a couple seconds before releasing Parsons' wrist to hurl a wave of water over his head. He gasped at the sudden contact before returning the splash, overlooking Durkheim's touch and assuming it was simply a way to distract him from the splashy splashy. 

The boys continued to splash each other, each wave bigger than the last until their arms were aching. Parsons leant over to catch his breath, "ok that's enough, I don't know how much more water I can swallow." He was too busy gasping for air to notice that someone was missing, "Durkheim?" He called out, only to be met with silence. Suddenly, he felt a hand grip his ankle, the shock sending him flying backwards into the water. Crawling back up for air, he saw Durkheim clutching his sides as he broke out in laughter. 

"Not funny, fuck you, you fucking French baguette," Parsons glared at him after rubbing the water out his eyes, promptly giving him a clean thump to the head with his fist, "come on, it's getting late. If we stay out here any longer we'll definitely get murdered, unless you end up drowning me first." 

Durkheim followed his best friend out of the water and went to grab his towel from the bag, "I only brought one so we'll have to share."

Parsons stood silently as he watched Durkheim dry himself off. His eyes couldn't help but wander down his body, admiring his toned arms and chest. As much as he knew he shouldn't be looking, he couldn't help but let his eyes drift even lower. The way the lake water soaked through his boxers left little to the imagination, tightly hugging the curves of his hips and round ass. Despite it being fairly dark, the moon highlighted the obvious outline of his dick. Not only could Parsons not help but look, he also couldn't help but think 'damn this bitch is packing SCHMEAT'. He immediately felt disgusted with himself; how could he objectify his best friend like that? Parsons glanced away, a light blush spreading across his cheeks (those won't be the only cheeks being spread eh heh heh). 

"Like what you see?" Durkheim made eye contact with him and smirked.

Parsons was left a flustered, stuttering mess, not quite sure where to look, "I, err, I-I'm sorry it's kinda hard not to look when it's right there y'know... baka..."

Durkheim chuckled as he handed the towel to him, "I was only joking!" Once they were both dry and dressed again, he laid the towel on the ground, "let's watch the stars for a bit."

Parsons sat down beside Durkheim and gazed at the sky as they laid in a comfortable silence, pointing out different constellations every once in a while. Parsons smiled to himself, happy in his best friends company. He noticed how his heart sped up slightly every time Durkheim opened his mouth to speak. He didn't know what he was hoping he was going to say, but whatever it was, he didn't say it. Durkheim's hand itched closer to Parsons, slowly tracing his fingers along the back of his hand and fingers as if he was asking for permission before intertwining their hands together. The soft contact made Parsons' heart flutter, and for once someone had managed to take his mind off of Karl. 

He turned his head to the side to look at Durkheim, cherishing the moment together and admiring each feature on his carved face. Durkheim looked over at Parsons, bringing his other hand up to stroke his cheek with his thumb. Parsons blinked slowly, trying to give the appearance of composure while silently freaking out in his mind. Yes, Karl could fuck his brains out, but he couldn't give him butterflies like he could. Durkheim shuffled closer before closing his eyes and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Pulling away, he looked into Parsons' eyes for some sort of response. The only thing the smaller man had on his mind was that he wanted more. Grabbing his face, Parsons hastily pressed his lips against Durkheim's, their lips dancing together as Durkheim's hand meandered down to his waist. He cautiously lifted the hem of his shirt, sliding his hand up to feel his smooth skin. Parsons sighed softly as the contact sent shivers up his spine, allowing for Durkheim to shove his tongue into his mouth and deepen the kiss. Parsons pressed his body against his, his hand snaking it's way into his soft locks of hair. He moaned quietly as Durkheim's hand roamed his upper body, loving the sensation of his fingertips against his skin. 

Parsons moved his hand to rest on Durkheim's hip before pulling the larger man on top of him. Durkheim was slightly shocked at Parsons taking initiative, but turned on by it nonetheless. He smirked as he left his lips to leave a trail of kisses along his sharp jawline up to his ear then down his neck to his collar bone. Parsons groaned softly, involuntarily pressing his hips into Durkheim's, his eyes wide in disbelief as he realised what he'd done. Before he could say anything, Durkheim let him know that he didn't mind by grinding his hips down even harder into Parsons' groin. Parsons leant his head back and moaned louder, the sensation making him hard. His hand slid into Durkheim's shirt as he trailed his fingertips along his spine. 

Durkheim groaned quietly as he felt himself also getting hard, blood rushing to his cock as he rubbed himself up against the smaller man. He left Parsons' neck alone, satisfied with the stream of fresh love bites, then moved back up to give his lips more attention. He swiped his tongue along his lower lip before biting down softly. Parsons' hand trailed from his abdomen up his chest then back into his hair, sighing at the feeling of Durkheim biting his lip.

They could've been kissing for hours, Parsons had lost all sense of time. Eventually, Durkheim pulled away to gaze into his eyes, "you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this."

Parsons blushed before smiling, giving Durkheim one last quick, tender kiss, "come on. Let's go home."


	10. He made my whole week by making my hole weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Parsons gets the gluck gluck 9000

Confusion. Bewilderment. Discombobulation. Whatever you want to call it, that's what Parsons was feeling. His inner turmoil split into 2 opposing arguments, constantly bickering back and forth over what to do, who to choose. He felt like a contestant on Deal or No Deal; should he take the money or take a risk and explore another box with the chance of winning a whole lot more? 

He already knew what he was in for with Durkheim; the two had been best friends for years. They knew everything about one another, been there together through both highlights and the darkest hours. Parsons remembered Durkheim showing up at his house in the middle of the night after his divorce from his ex-wife Margaret Thatcher, tears mixed in with the rainwater streaming down his cheeks. The two would often visit her grave and dance on the soil covering the rotting corpse. Romance wasn't dead after all. Durkheim could offer him love and devotion, something Parsons had lacked his whole life. 

But is that what Parsons really wanted? There was something within him that yearned for mystery, for excitement. Sure, Durkheim might have what he wanted in the long run, but right now all he wanted was to get bent over, dicked down and shagged into a year long coma. However, that quiet voice in the back of his head still occasionally reminded him of his hatred and rage towards Karl, but maybe that's what made the communist daddy so appealing to Parsons. Maybe he wanted someone to take control and fuck him senselessly. He knew that he didn't have long to make up his mind; Karl's injuries weren't that serious and he would be discharged from the hospital very soon. 

He had to see him once more.

Parsons began the long trek to the hospital. About 15 minutes into the walk, he realised he should've called for an Uber. All these confusing emotions really took a toll on his mental state, and his ability to use common sense apparently. Parsons stood at the side of the road and called for an Uber to pick him up, pleasantly surprised that it came in under 2 minutes (bit like him lmao lightweight) but less so pleasantly surprised to find who his driver was...

[Imagine there’s a picture of Jeffree Star here]

"You called for an oovoo javer?" Jeffree said as his slid out the car, sucking on a red lollipop as he strutted over to open the backseat door for him. Parsons stood in disbelief as he stared at the excessively pink interior. The velvet, magenta seats did look very inviting though. 

"I-I, umm, I had no idea that you-"

"I'm spreading my talents elsewhere instead of my legs, the YouTube channel really fell off. Now get in bitch." Jeffree interrupted, tilting his head down to peer over the massive, oversized Gucci sunglasses, his elbow leaning on top of the car door.

Parsons took a step towards the car then halted as soon as he saw who sat over on the other side. "Oh don't mind him, he doesn't bite." Jeffree leaned in to whisper in his ear, "its a good job you're going to the hospital just in case he tries."

Parsons peered into the car and stared at the man awkwardly waving at him from the backseat before getting in, navigating his way through the copious amounts of piss filled water bottles. 

[Imagine there’s a picture of cat fucker Shane Dawson here]

The two sat in a painful silence in the back of the car, Shane eventually trying the ease the (sexual) tension, "I've been living here for a while... Sorry about all the piss."

"I can tell." Parsons replied, intensely gazing out of the window in an attempt to avoid all possible contact with the grubby, sweaty man. 

Maybe the Uber ride wasn't such a good idea after all. As if Parsons couldn't regret his decision enough already, suddenly Jeffree stopped the car and got out to let one more person in the front. 

"Hi guuuyyyysss!!" Parsons would recognise that voice anywhere. It was her... Trish (that smelt) like fish...

[Imagine there’s a picture of Trisha Paytas here]

"Hold your fat ass up a minute!" Jeffree rushed back into the car to grab his phone off the passenger side seat, "don't sit on my phone we might never see it again."

Trisha's pussy lips slurped like a vacuum as she sat down, "ooh she kinda squelchy today 😻 Hey haven't we met before? I'd recognise that pretty little mouth anywhere... And you temporarily blinded me!"

Parsons froze solid, all 3 of them staring into his soul. 

"There's a way you can make it up to me you know..." Trisha peered around the seat at him and groped his thigh, a bone chilling smile plastered on her face. 

"Not today you big titted mutant!" Parsons gave her a swift slap on the clit before hastily clambering out of the car and fading into the distance, running straight towards the hospital. He was lucky that Jeffree had driven him pretty close already, it didn't take long to get there. He was still panting and gasping for air by the time he got there though (ay yo flashback to chapter 8 🤩). 

The closer Parsons got to Karl's room, the more nervous he became. Would Karl even want to see him again? Was he being too clingy? In the words of Harry Hill: only one way to find out... 

Parsons' hand shook as he hesitated before knocking on the door. 'Come on, Talcott, don't be a pussio. You can't back out now', he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture and knocked.

"Who the fuck is it?" Karl's voice boomed from the other side. Not responding, Parsons slowly opened the door to reveal himself, "ah, gimp boy. I knew you would come crawling back. You're just in time too, I was just about to leave."

"Leave? Where are you going?" 

Karl chuckled and strode over to the smaller man hovering by the door, "since your little outburst made me miss my show, I've managed to reschedule, so I'm staying in Colorado for a while longer." Karl took Parsons' chin in his hand and forced him to look up and make eye contact with him, "come to my hotel room with me. I haven't finished having fun with you just yet."

Parsons felt a rush of blood surge straight to his groin at the thought of Karl fucking him again. Maybe it was his lucky day after all. 

~Time skip to the hotel bc I'm lazy bop bop~

Parsons trotted along behind Karl as he lead him down the hall, unlocking the door and opening it for Parsons. Karl pushed the door shut as Parsons gazed around the dark room, sunlight barely showing through the closed curtains. He gasped as Karl shoved him against the wall, gripping his jaw and tilting it to the side to leave a trail of wet kisses down his neck. Karl chuckled darkly as he felt Parsons shiver under his touch, pressing his hips into Karl's for some kind of friction. 

Karl pulled his jaw closer to his face, "needy little slut, aren't you?" 

Parsons felt his dick throb at Karl's words, locking eyes with him, "I-I want you to degrade me..."

Karl laughed, amused Parsons' obvious lack of experience, "very well. Pathetic, horny little whores like you deserve to be put in their place."

Parsons reached down to touch himself, startled when Karl quickly grabbed his wrist and pinned both hands to the wall, "I don't think so, gimp boy. You're going to do exactly as I say. I think you've forgotten whose in charge here..." 

Karl shoved him roughly into the bed, climbing on top of him and undoing his belt. Pinning his hands above his head, he wrapped the belt around them then securing it to the metal headboard frame. Parsons grunted softly as Karl slipped a hand underneath his shirt, "I'm going to show you how it's really done..." Karl whispered in his ear, licking the outer shell. 

Undoing the buttons, Karl sucked on his neck as his fingers crept up to lightly caress his right nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Parsons bit his lip, trying not to show how much he was enjoying Karl's touch. Satisfied with the marks he'd left, Karl's mouth trailed down to his other nipple, licking a long strip over the sensitive skin and sending shudders up Parsons' spine. Karl smirked to himself, hearing Parsons' gasp as he roughly shoved a hand down his pants and began groping at the semi-hard length. Leaving a trail of soft kisses down his stomach, he pulled his trousers and underwear down to his knees before taking a moment to look up and admire how flustered Parsons had became. His face was a blushing mess, chest rising and falling with each breath becoming more irregular from every touch.

"P-please... please touch me..." Parsons whimpered, too embarrassed to look Karl in the eye.

"Please what?"

"Please daddy..."

Karl smirked, "as you wish." Parsons released a low groan as Karl took the pink head into his mouth, sucking gently and trailing his tongue along the tip at an agonisingly slow pace. Karl took more of him into his mouth, causing Parsons to scrunch his eyes shut. However, this was short lived as his eyes snapped open, his mouth agape with a silent moan as Karl suddenly took every inch of his down his wet throat. Vibrations shot down his length as Karl snickered at Parsons' reaction, his toes curling into the bed, hips involuntarily snapping up to try and fit more of himself into Karl's mouth.

Karl's head bobbed up and down his manhood at varying paces, slowing down when he thought Parsons was getting closer to the edge. Both hands worked the rest of his cock, the wet, sloppy sounds making Parsons unbelievably turned on. He grunted and threw his head back into the pillow, wrists tugging at the belt keeping his arms firmly in place above his head at the feeling of Karl's mouth moving down to suck one of his balls while one hand rapidly pumped his shaft. 

"G-gonna..hahh..gonna cum..mmm", Parsons' now erratic breaths made it difficult to speak, the overwhelming sensations filling his mind with nothing except the thought of reaching the finishing line.

Karl dragged his tongue up the protruding, throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft, pulling his thin lips off the tip with a satisfying noise, "not yet. I still haven't finished playing with you..."

Parsons whined at the thought of waiting any longer to feel that rush of ecstasy he was craving. As soon as he'd come down a bit, Karl promptly thrust a finger knuckle deep into his asshole without any warning, enjoying watching as Parsons' back arched and thighs tense as he probed around, looking for that one magic spot. He knew he'd found it immediately as Parsons' eyes rolled back into his skull, hips rutting upwards with a low moan escaping his throat. Karl continued assaulting that one spot with the tip of his finger, his tongue dancing across the tip of his cock as Parsons writhed beneath him, begging and cursing for Karl to let him cum. 

Just as Parsons felt that coil in his abdomen reach closer to the breaking point, he was interrupted from the forbidden euphoria as he heard his phone ringing from his trouser pocket gathered at his knees. Karl stopped everything he was doing at hearing the noise, looking up at Parsons with one eyebrow raised. "W-wait, please don't stop I'm almost there, please daddy!" Parsons cried. 

Karl gazed at him with an emotionless expression before reaching into his pocket and pulling the phone out, "Who the fuck is 'Big daddy dick man Durkheim'?"

Parsons' eyes widen, why the fuck did he have to call him right now?! "Oh, he's nobody! Please just finish me off, I'm begging you... I'll explain everything after!"

"Well, if he's nobody then I'm sure you won't mind if I answer it for you." 

Parsons looked away, already planning who to invite to his funeral as he tried to block out the sound of Durkheim's voice on the other end of the line. 'Hey Parsons! I just wanted to-'

"Oi rude boy, go slurp yo mums stanky pussy lips ye Parsons is getting sucked off into a black hole right now." Karl interrupted before hanging up. 

"W-wait! What are you doing?" Parsons asked with a shaky tone as he watched Karl get up off the bed and head towards the door.

Karl wandered back over to him, "looks like I've got some competition. You're gong to have to make a choice, gimp boy. It's either me, or him." Karl flashed Parsons a smile before giving him a couple patronising, gentle slaps on the cheek. 

"You could at least undo this belt before you leave, asshole!"

Karl laughed to himself before walking out the door, looking back over his shoulder at the mess he'd created, "you're a smart kid, you'll figure it out."


End file.
